Covenant - THE CONTROLLER 01

  THE CONTROLLER - Covenant

  By

  Jerry Bruce

  THE CONTROLLER

  -Covenant

  Jerry Bruce

  Copyright © 2005 Gerard F. Bruce

  ISBN 978-0-9844538-0-1

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Stephen sensed that something was amiss; an uneasiness that he couldn’t put to rest kept gnawing at him. One or two strokes of good luck could be explained, but too many chips were falling the Sinclair/Hamilton way to attribute to luck. He saw no alternative but to confront Richard. Rarely did they have spare time, but today they were going to have a quiet, unhurried lunch together to discuss the next week’s activity, and he would seize the opportunity.

  “It feels good to just sit down and relax for a few minutes; this has been one horrendous week.” Richard heaved a big sigh, crossed his legs and slouched in the deeply padded chair. His demeanor said much more than his words. The exhaustion was starting to show. “At least you are an old hand at campaigning. I, on the other hand, am new to this and I never dreamed it could be so debilitating. How have you managed to keep your sanity for all these years?”

  “Just lucky, I guess.” Stephen saw an opening and his face took on a seriousness that got Richard's attention. “Speaking of luck, doesn’t it seem odd to you that we are suddenly garnering support from factions that have a history of adversity toward us? We haven’t changed our campaign one iota, so why the sudden rush of new support? Is there anything I should know, Richard?”

  Richard wasn’t sure where Stephen was headed with this, and with obvious concern, stared deep into Stephen's eyes, “I don’t follow you. What are you saying?”

  “I mean, is there any possibility that somewhere down the line, we could be looking at an investigation? Our opponents are too smart not to be wondering why there has been such a shift in loyalties. They won’t take this lying down; and if I’m suspicious, what do you think they’re going to be?”

  “You don’t think that I have been doing anything improper, do you?” Richard’s body language sent a message of innocence, and his voice sounded hurt; that Stephen couldn’t deny.

  “No, no Richard," a softening came over Stephen's face. "I never thought for one minute that you would be involved in any kind of tampering. I just thought that maybe you might know of someone who could.” Stephen wasn’t just telling him what he thought he wanted to hear; he really believed that Richard was too smart and straight arrow to resort to such tactics, too proud to take shortcuts.

  “I guess my political naiveté has caused me to ignore my gut feelings. I don’t know anyone with enough clout to pull these things off. But let me ask you a question. Can you think of anyone capable of this?” Richard relaxed slightly, settling back in his chair.

  “I wish I could. If we had any idea who, we might also know why.” Stephen had a worried look, a new emotion he had never before revealed to Richard. “Whoever it is, you can bet there is quite an agenda that goes with the support.”

  “But since we haven’t solicited this help, we may be able to avoid having to repay the debt.” Richard had the anticipatory look of a child hoping for some parental approval.

  “As much as I would like to believe that, I’ve got this gut feeling that another shoe is about to drop. I’ll be honest with you Richard, I’m really concerned. How are we supposed to go about our business with this hanging over our heads? No one in politics does anything out of the goodness of his heart. Somebody is going to want payback somewhere down the line.”

  “One thing is certain; we have no choice but to proceed with our plans. We have objectives and people are counting on us. Maybe we’ll get lucky and our benefactor will be happy just to have us in office. Maybe that’s been the plan all along—to ensure that we, and not our opponents, get elected. Maybe our agenda is his agenda.” Richard couldn’t believe how naive that sounded and wished he hadn’t said it.

  Stephen just stared into space “Yeah, maybe. Then again, maybe not. At any rate, we have to prepare ourselves for the worst.”

  “What might that be, Stephen?”

  “That whoever is working behind the scenes on our behalf is going to expect something in return. Eventually we are going to be asked to pay up. It’s the price that has me worried.”

  “How can we be expected to feel obligated when we never solicited the support?”

  “Take my word for it, Richard. Sometime, maybe later than sooner, we are going to be asked to redeem our IOU.”

  * * *

  The campaign had been going very well. Election Day was just around the corner and the polls indicated that Richard Sinclair and Stephen Hamilton would be the next President and Vice President of the United States of America. As with most campaigns, this one had been a test of survival with one whistle stop after another and no pause in between. Richard had often felt that the whole process was designed to see how far an exhausted man could be pushed before he started slipping up and making promises he couldn’t keep. The media, and his opponent, would relish the opportunity to catch him with his pants down. If he and Steven could just keep their noses clean for a little while longer.

  Richard wondered how he ever got into this in the first place. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since the Republican Party approached him with the idea of running. For every argument he presented against his being the right man for the job, two reasons why he was were offered.

  The party felt that America was tired of business as usual. The days of coming up through the ranks of various political offices had been left behind. If anyone could break the mold, he could. But just for insurance, and to appeal to those still holding on to the old school thinking, the party recommended that Hamilton be his running mate.

  Sinclair would be a landslide winner if a vote were taken to name the foremost corporate leader in the world. One could hardly name a company in which Richard didn’t have some interest, if not outright control. His face had probably graced more magazine covers than any other businessman in history. No one commanded more respect. While he could be cutthroat in his business dealings, he also was fair and honest. As testament, he numbered many former foes among his long list of friends; and many of those had assumed roles as staunch supporters. Sinclair built a corporate empire staffed with loyal employees, having learned early on that praise and reward went a long way. His ideas regarding balancing the roles of business and politics on international as well as domestic issues had focused even more worldwide attention to this election than is usual.

  The fact that he was phys
ically imposing hadn’t hurt the campaign either. Although fifty years old, he certainly didn’t look it. His full head of dark hair was always in place, combed straight back and showing only slight graying at the temples. The subject of his attention always received a fixed stare from his brown eyes, a stare that could pierce through to the very soul when he so desired. His face required close study before revealing tiny wrinkles around the eyes and mouth. Regular rounds on the golf course resulted in a tanned complexion that enhanced his chiseled facial features. His six-foot-two-inch frame carried a muscular two hundred twenty pounds, the result of daily workouts with barbells and the machines in the gym set up in his home. One did not have to stretch the imagination to envision Richard on a movie poster instead of an election banner. With his confident stance and walk giving the impression of even greater height, one would never believe this man came from “ordinary” roots.

  While his press agents might have liked to have a biography that read of royal lineage, or at least “old” money, nothing could be further from the truth. Richard grew up in a predominately agricultural environment when his parents decided to take flight from the urban sprawl of Los Angeles to try their hand at small business. They opened a bookstore in the small town of Yountville in the heart of California’s Napa Valley wine country. They would never get rich from the business, but being in a rustic shopping area that catered to tourists looking for antiques, meant they got their fair share of walk-in customers. This made the business successful enough to support the family comfortably. Both parents were avid readers and passed their love for literature on to their three children. Richard, being the oldest, was “employed” as babysitter at times and errand boy most of the time. The Sinclairs stressed the value of education to all their children and gave up many luxuries so that Richard and his siblings could get the best education possible.

  Richard learned you could never have too much knowledge, no matter what the endeavor. His father needed to know how to keep a set of ledgers, and so, too, did the vintner. To be successful they needed to know a lot of the same things. He saw the science that was involved in delivering a good product and maintaining proper inventory levels. He learned to respect the small businessmen, the vintners and the farmers for their dedication. He witnessed their anguish as their labors were rewarded with recessions, crop destroying storms, and pestilence. He learned the lesson of how economy is dependent on each entity; other businesses suffered when the growers suffered, and his parents’ store was no exception. He brought these lessons with him on his journey to New York.

  A natural student, Richard found that every area of study came easily into focus. His interests led him to concentrate on economics, finance and marketing, with a Wall Street position in mind. His parents did all they could to finance his years at Harvard, but Richard still had to work as many hours as he could to cover the shortfall. No one could ever accuse him of not getting his hands dirty, especially when working summers in construction. His main tool was a shovel and he had the calluses to prove it. His experience with his parents’ store landed him a job on campus at the student bookshop, where his position gave him first choice of the used books, thereby reducing his expenses considerably. His job also carried a fringe benefit; it exposed him to most of the student body, and with his good looks, he was never without a date on those weekends he chose to take a break from studying.

  Richard missed making the Dean’s List only because he spread himself too thin, letting his interests get in the way of a strict, limited curriculum. He took courses that didn’t help toward his degree, but satisfied his quest for knowledge. He may not have received any honors, but he definitely got a well-rounded education, one that rendered him conversant on many topics. Richard used this to his advantage, and knowing that the art of networking was extremely important in the current world of high finance, he made valuable contacts within the many diverse on campus factions.

  So after all the years in school, all the time spent in the corporate corridors, he now found himself starting over again. He would have turned the party down cold, but his ego wouldn’t let him pass up this potential opportunity to become the most renowned leader in the world and commander-in-chief of the greatest military force the world has ever seen. He had watched the previous two presidents fritter away their terms, accomplishing nothing of note; now he had the chance to prove what he could do. He made certain the party understood his positions on the key issues, stressing to them that he would negotiate or compromise when necessary. He would not, however, sacrifice his convictions just to satisfy political in fighting. He would never buy into the strict “party line” way of thinking; it would be too limiting. He had to have the freedom to work outside party philosophies to accomplish his goals. If he felt that a Democrat was the best person for a position, then that’s who would get the call. Perhaps he summed up himself and his philosophy best when he told the press that he was “the most liberal conservative that he knows.”

  A few factions in the Republican Party were leery of turning Sinclair loose to run roughshod. It wasn’t until Stephen Hamilton’s name was offered as running mate that they started to come around. The general thinking was that Stephen would be able to temper some of Sinclair’s enthusiasm, when needed. Sinclair was told that he could have the total support of the party if he accepted Hamilton. In addition, he had to allow Stephen to perform at a higher level than previous vice presidents. They would not allow Richard to relegate Stephen to the minor role of presiding over bridge openings and monument dedications. This was going to be a partnership; Richard was to be the senior partner and Stephen the junior. Richard agreed to the terms without any ill feelings. He had learned enough about Stephen to know that they could work well together. He equated Stephen’s abilities to those of some of his best corporate vice presidents—good implementers, capable of stepping in and running the show. They didn’t always have the vision to create the wheel, but they could definitely improve on it and keep it rolling. Stephen could play a significant role in the administration, which Richard welcomed. Richard’s art of diplomacy was somewhat rough edged, so Stephen’s well-honed skills would be a fine complement.

  Stephen Hamilton was born to politics. Even though he never claimed a blood relationship to Alexander Hamilton, the media ferreted out the truth and reported that he was a direct descendent. Of course, being a true politician, Hamilton didn’t miss any opportunity to capitalize, saying it was “easier to ride the coattails than to tailor a new suit” in his best Texas drawl. His grandfather had distinguished himself with a career in the Senate that spanned nearly thirty years, surrendering his post only to wage a war with cancer. Stephen’s father, a devoted Texan, progressed up the ladder from minor state offices to the governor’s mansion. He realized that his capabilities would allow him to reach the governorship, but no further, just as his father knew his destiny would be limited to the Senate. Stephen’s career would be different, however; his father made sure that Stephen grew up knowing there was no limit to his capabilities, that he could indeed be president one day. There was never any doubt that Stephen would follow in the footsteps of his father, and he was elated when his son was sworn in as governor of the Lone Star State. Now he would be the proudest parent ever to attend an inauguration in Washington, D.C.

  Stephen had all the credentials—a Yale education, time served in the Texas State Legislature, and of course, two terms as governor. His gift of gab was well known and his ability as a speaker was in high demand. Should, through some stroke of ill fortune, the election be lost, he could make an enviable living touring the lecture circuit. His charisma made him a much sought after guest on the talk show circuit. And then there was the book he kept promising himself to write, which would have been written long ago, except that he was too busy living out new chapters.

  When Stephen first met with Richard to discuss their running together, he took an instant liking to Richard. Being of similar stature, they could literally look each other eye-to-eye, and the
first time they did so, each knew that they would make a formidable team. Seven years senior, Stephen immediately assumed the role of mentor. He would willingly help Richard fine-tune his deportment as a candidate. Richard didn’t have a clue as to where to start, and his campaign staff, inexperienced in promoting a “rookie,” gave him mixed input. He needed Stephen’s aid and Stephen was an excellent teacher. He taught Richard that he could maintain his intensity and, at the same time, refine his delivery. Richard’s ideas had merit; he simply had to learn how to present them to the nation in a convincing and appealing way. And if anyone knew how to do that, it was Hamilton.

  It seemed as though Stephen had a campaign story for every situation, and never hesitated to relate it when circumstances warranted. This drew Richard closer and closer to him. Richard determined that there was more to Stephen than he first thought. Stephen would freely voice his opinions of Richard’s concepts. If he liked an idea he jumped in with both feet, if he was opposed, he made sure Richard understood his position. He simply wanted Richard to know where he stood so that they could avoid the embarrassment of seeming at odds. They would present a united front to the public, but Stephen would stick to his guns and confront Richard when they were alone. This resulted in Richard developing a deep respect for Stephen; he didn’t expect to see this degree of honesty in a dyed-in-the-wool politician. More than respect, they were developing a friendship.

  * * *

  No matter where they campaigned, Stephen had some insight into local politics that they could use to their advantage. Among the campaign insiders, Stephen was lovingly referred to as “The Seer,” a name bestowed upon him by Richard in reference to his all-knowing presence. Still, there were unexpected outcomes that even “The Seer” couldn’t explain. For example, in Detroit they received a warm welcome from the United Automobile Workers, whose leaders were in the midst of bitter negotiations with General Motors over a new contract. Richard represented big business to these people, yet they were treating him as one of their own. The best anyone had wished for was a civil reception, but this was incredible. The UAW was endorsing them to their membership in spite of the support they were receiving from the GM management. Stephen was amazed, he hadn’t even wanted to visit Detroit, so convinced was he that this was one of those opportunities where you could only do harm by being there. Adhering to the expression “never look a gift horse in the mouth,” they left town in wonderment.